


Just Harry

by Limey (The_Vox)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Powerful Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 02:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9102259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Vox/pseuds/Limey
Summary: An eleven year old Harry Potter, abandoned by the Dursleys, stumbles into the Wizarding World. He's run out of people to trust and needs someone to help him control his magic.





	

It would have been simpler if the boy had died. That he was alive was both a blessing and a curse.

Albus could scarcely imagine how things could have gone _so wrong_ – but they had, and catastrophically at that. His every other thought seemed riddled with _what-ifs_ —was there any recovery from the harm that had been done?

He was at fault; there was some small mercy knowing so few people were aware of just how much he’d lost.

.

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Albus sat at his desk, hands folded comfortably in his lap with his eyes closed, enjoying the ambience of the room washing over him. It was a quiet day and it had become an even quieter night, the upcoming morning was continuing this unexpected trend. The experience could only be heightened, perhaps, by the presence of Fawkes. The intensely magical animal, however, had gone for a fly earlier while he’d been occupied with paperwork.

The sturdy and finely crafted desk was uncharacteristically bereft of said paperwork right now—it wasn’t, of course, empty; dozens of letters of varying language were stacked neatly into piles, sorted by urgency self-determined by the letters themselves. Every now and then the fireplace would light up and a new letter would glide through the flames to his desk, patting themselves down of embers as they awaited his attention.

The silence was interrupted by the screeching of an owl.

It came clattering through the window, squawking madly. He recognised it immediately as Rubeus’ small barn owl. He held his arm out for the wildly acting bird to perch on and it landed heavily, almost swinging right around had he not held it steady.

A letter was attached to its leg—coloured vividly crimson.

Albus stared at it in open-mouthed shock for a moment before a movement of his hand had the letter untying itself. The owl flew away as he unfolded the letter. His frown deepened at a first glance, it had very evidently been written in great haste.

 _Wasn’t a holiday like we thou-,_ it began, then trailed off with a large splotch of ink. _The man shot me when I gave Harry his letter. Can you come and get me?_

Albus was moving in an instant.

 _How long ago had Hagrid sent his letter?_ The owl definitely showed signs of fatigue, the span of time would likely be hours, and the blood…

He stifled a curse when he realised he couldn’t simply apparate to Hagrid’s side, _hut on the rock, the sea_ was a frustratingly vague address.

He called out to Fawkes wordlessly, a second later a hovering sphere of white fire appeared in front of him, taking the form of a phoenix with plumage a shocking reddened orange colour. He briefly noticed a creeping brownness to the hues—a Burning could come anytime now, he had to act quickly.

He held out the bloodied letter to Fawkes.

“Can you locate this?” he asked.

A few moments later Fawkes met his eyes.

“Take me.”

Fawkes appeared above his head and grasped his left shoulder. They both disappeared in a column of fire as tall as two men.

The world dissolved in an almost arctic tempest; Albus reappeared hundreds of feet in the sky above grey, churning sea. Wind battered them backwards powerfully, whipping his robes about and splaying his hair behind him frenziedly. Albus cut his hand through the air and the raging wind broke apart around them.

He knew at once what Hagrid referred to: far out to sea, almost at the horizon, was an island, looking like a cracked black tooth cutting through surface of the water, atop it he could just make out the barest contours of a building, the hut.

Fawkes gave an unexpected screech at his shoulder that drew his eyes. Too quick for the eye to see Fawkes pulsed magically and a second later the bird was entirely wreathed in fire.

Albus swept his hand up and managed to grasp hold of something solid within the flame as they collapsed into freefall. Ash coated his hair as Fawkes gave a soft croon in his hand, a heartbeat later he reappeared at the shore of the island with a soft _pop_ , his feet sinking a few inches into muddy shore.

“That was a close one, old friend,” he said to the bird, now the size of a chick in his palm. “Well done.”

With that he spirited the phoenix away to a pocket on the insides of his robes, then drew his wand and cast powerfully in a wide arc that encompassed the island and the surrounding sea.

For a moment it seemed nothing happened, then a spectral image took shape in his mind—showing him a tall glowing presence at the shore as bright as a star which he knew to be himself. There was no one else here. An unsettling feeling

He made quickly up the slopes of the island with long strides as his heart beat fiercely against his chest. He looked around as he travelled for anything that seemed suspect, though nothing stuck out. He arrived at the door of the hut and entered.

The sight that greeted him made his heart slam against his ribcage.

“No!”

A huge body was heaped against stone wall opposite him, eyes open but unseeing. Rubeus’ chest was a mess of torn fabric, stained a vivid red.

.

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Hours had passed and he found himself once again at the horrid rock on the sea. He stood tall at the shore, a short way out of the reach of those cold, breaking waves, trying to project a strength to match the expanse of ocean before him. He fell far short of the mark.

A numbness had overcome him these last tense moments, writing on the wall, was the phrase—but questions whirred within. _The boy was alive,_ he knew. Albus hadn’t even considered the alternative, it wasn’t improbable—he certainly believed it _impossible_ , however the proof to back-up such a claim…

But why had events transpired as they did?

“I need to know why, Dumbledore. I’ll need something substantial for my report.”

Albus glanced to the woman at his right – the current head of the investigative team. A stroke of luck, to be sure, that the person assigned a leading role on this developing investigation was one he was on friendly terms with.

“I was unaware, Amelia,” he said. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “They’re his last remaining family… this is beyond anything I imagined of them... I was naïve.”

Amelia looked sharply at him. For a moment she teetered on saying something but relented. “This is huge if it gets out,” she began. “And what those firearms can do... what we believe _those_ _muggles_ have done… It’s got my people talking _._ ”

“Not without reason,” Albus agreed.

“I’ll contain what I can on my side,” she offered. A muscle in her jaw stuck out sharply as she chose her next words. “You do what you can but _stay out of the investigation_.”

Albus nodded and the deputy-director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE) departed. The other Ministry staff currently presiding over the investigation made well clear he was considered _persona non grata_ until this situation was dealt with.

After arriving at the island and seeing Hagrid’s body Albus had sent a message magically to the DMLE office. He had expected support, resources, even a degree of authority himself over matters, due to his familiarity with the elements involved in such a taskforce.

It had backfired spectacularly.

He spearheaded the team into Privet Drive; dozens of mages, sworn to secrecy for the time being, had followed his lead. Within minutes of them appearing in Surrey hundreds of spells and enchantments had been cast.

They had combed the Dursleys house with increasing confusion, you could scarcely believe anyone other than Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley lived there. The pictures decorating the house didn’t contain Harry at all. Albus navigated the house with a fixed expression on his face. He felt many things, to be sure. He pitied Petunia her intolerance.

“Wouldn’t they want show it off a bit,” he overheard an investigator say. “A picture of Harry Potter – doing anything at all, really – would have earned them a pretty penny.”

 _Not an incorrect assumption,_ Albus thought absently.

It was a junior investigator that made the discovery.

Before long they had all crowded around the small door that lead to a broom closet under the staircase.

Albus felt a chill go through him as the investigator levitated out what could only be described as a… mattress of sorts. _Surely not?_

“Oh _Merlin_.”

An investigator man lying prone, head first inside the cupboard, had been the one to curse, almost as soon as he’d got his head inside had he uttered it.

“What did they _do_ to you Harry?” whispered the prone man.

The investigators still outside the door had become impatient and were prompting for answers.

“There’s writing. Something sketched into the bottom of the stairs.”

“Don’t make us wait, Peters. Spill.”

The man identified as Peters was silent for a moment, but they heard his next mutter. “I could hurt those muggles…”

“What’s it say?”

 “It says _Harry’s Room_ ,” snarled Peters.

Albus felt his face heat up, and his heartbeat started pounding in a distant sort of way.

What the evidence suggested… that Harry had been forced to live—it seemed his entire time there—in a cupboard under the stairs. A space so small Albus could scarcely believe a person could fit inside, let alone spend a night. For any child to have slept there for-for what had to be _years…_

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It was into the _next_ morning when Albus found himself back at the school. He’d wasted no time in communicating with his contacts; he had been relentlessly calling in favours and using the full weight of his many roles on those who took such things seriously. He pressed the importance of silence on this… but it was a matter of time, he knew.

It had been a very long night indeed, though his work had been done. The foundations of a network of singular purpose had been formed, he only hoped it would be enough to retrieve the boy. Albus was prepared to… prepared to go to extraordinary lengths. He had to know. Needed to confirm with Harry directly.

_He couldn’t have got it that wrong?_

At his desk he found a message floating in the middle of his desk with a certain frantic quality about it. He recognised the sender immediately from the behaviour of their missive – it’s anxious bobbing from side to side had battered other correspondence with no regards as to their integrity, judging from the shreds of paper surrounding it.

He placed Fawkes back on his perch before Summoning the letter and reading it, only a slight tightening of his features gave any clue as to the contents. It was not an unexpected development, he knew why it had been written, for the sake of bureaucracy if nothing else.

He freshened himself through means of a potion and a change of clothes before he turned towards the fireplace. It was time to meet the Minister.


End file.
